Stupor Munchies
by MarkTheTinyGiraffe
Summary: One-shot. Well, if you think Divine-Red-Crayon's fic; "Apples" changed Sam's perspective on the particular fruit, then I have no idea what THIS fic will do! Read and find out! Rated T because I don't want children getting nightmares.


**Yeah; it's me again. Yes, I should be updating my other fics. Instead, what do I do? Write a very angst one-shot. **

**He he.**

**Enjoy.**

**DISCLAIMER****: I DO NOT WON DANNY PHANTOM NOR ANYTHING ELSE YOU MAY RECOGNIZE.**

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**Stupor Munchies.**

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Samantha Manson walked heavy-footed across the room. She sat on a chair. Crossed her arms. And huffed.

Morning went in a similar fashion. She was _supposed_ to be meeting up with the gang (Danny, Tucker and Jazz) at Nasty Burger; as they agreed to last night, but _nooooo_… she had to stay here, with her mother, at home, for an agonizing four hours. Why? She was to star in a magazine.

Yes. Sam was going to star in a Magazine.

Don't get her wrong; Sam was pretty darn excited too. The magazine has a non-profit environmental – friendly organization, and they basically want Sam to star in the pictures; holding a baby tiger, possibly patting it, and smiling all the way. For the rainforest preserve program they were promoting.

Turns out, they were rather impressed by the amount of dedication and passion Sam bought to saving the environment – they decided to round up the group of Amity's most dedicated civilians, and make a magazine. All they needed now was a star – a role model for the youngsters, someone to have their own column in the magazine; to answer weekly questions, someone to be in all the pictures, someone who won't let fame cloud their head so that they can stay on task at all times.

Samantha Manson; the glass slipper fits perfectly.

Her mother was thrilled. Her daughter would actually be staring in a magazine! Needless to say, she had no idea exactly why she was starring in it, or exactly what the magazine was about – but when the photographers came and made the request she didn't even ask for the details and agreed without hesitation.

Oh, she was a wonderful mother.

And so, she turned her head to look at her beautiful daughter; and what she saw did not please her. No, a proper lady should not be slumping on the couch glaring at one of the photographers. A young lady, like herself, must be sitting straight; shoulders square, chin high, having a lovely smile. A lovely smile ready for the cameras.

But at the current moment, Sam was pissed. Yes, she would like to be having this photo-shoot. Anyone would. But they would not if; all the photographers randomly decided to pop at their front doorstep and ask if they can do the shoot now – better now than never, right? – and so she had to cancel all her plans for a perfect Friday.

She would love to star in a magazine, but she would love to be chilling with her friends at Nasty Burger more. She glared daggers at all the people who decided to make eye contact with her – to which they broke contact immediately.

The room was being transformed. White sheets were hung up – probably for a background they will decide to Photoshop in. Photographers with big heavy-looking cannon cameras were talking animatedly, while the design crew set up the place. A slight smell of coffee was lingering in the air. Designers were creasing the curtains, adjusting the lighting, making sure everything was perfect.

Then the big flash-umbrellas were brought in. The photographers got to work, illuminating the room with the test-flashes. Nothing much went wrong; seems like the design crew did a really good job.

They approved the lighting, changed some angles; one light bulb was also removed, and placed on the table because it was not functioning properly.

People were chatting excitedly, the preppy self-affectionate design crew girls giggling and addressing each other with A LOT of enthusiasm. Her mother was also one of them.

Sam didn't like it. Okay, it is cool, being in a magazine, starring in one. But _this_, at the moment, was not 'cool.'

Stomping out of the room, she entered the kitchen. Seeing no point in coming in here without a reason to, she grabbed and apple that was resting on the counter. Angrily, she bit into it. Trotting along back into the room, instead of sitting down, she just walked.

Walked along the line of photographers who were sipping coffee, making revolting high-pitched laughs here and there. She walked across the design crew, who were also talking, but in a calm tone. She walked across the length of the room, and reached the table on the corner.

She shoved the occupants of the table – in her case, the light bulb – and made enough room for her to sit. And so she did. She sat, ate her apple, occasionally, glared… and sat. So she put her half-eaten apple on the table. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Time passed on. And a good three minutes later, her mother's shrilly cry of; "Sammy! Its time! Come on, let's get you ready!" was heard. Ugh. Time to get makeup done. By the looks of things, she will need to do a lot of arguing on the color choices.

Grabbing the apple, she jumped off the table, and took a bite.

Her mother, who was waiting for her, watched in curiosity as she stopped. There was a sick sound of water dripping and landing on the floor. Looking at her daughter's boots, she saw blood.

She fainted at the look of horror her daughter gave her; when she turned around and came into view.

Sam's mouth was a blaze with pain. Pain so intense that she couldn't even cry out. Her violet eyes were begging for help, her mouth was wide open. And dripping from her mouth, was blood. Her hands were shaking, and in one hand; was the light bulb, now cracked.

And on the table, lay the half-eaten apple.

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**Ouch. **

**Too much? Yeah. **

**I suggest that you read "Apples" by ****Divine-Red-Crayon, just a cute fluffy thing that also revolves around apples. It's not angst. ;)**

**Thanks so much for reading, please review and tell me what you think!**

**~Mark the tiny Giraffe. **


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